


The Glowing of Such Fire

by Silberias



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: 19th Century Medicine, Childbirth, Elizabeth Bennet/Mud is the true OTP, F/M, Fix-It, Napoleonic Wars, Princess Charlotte Augusta lives, Regency, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, badass Elizabeth Bennet, medicine sure was fun before germ theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: A grateful nation gave Wellington titles and properties aplenty. He decides to help his cherished Mrs. Fitz and her husband and creates the opportunity for them to set up their own establishment in the country. On the way Sir Richard and Lady Fitzwilliam meet Princess Charlotte, and history takes a very different turn.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Colonel Fitzwilliam
Comments: 19
Kudos: 137





	The Glowing of Such Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite). Log in to view. 
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite). Log in to view. 



> After reading a couple hundred thousand words of some of the finest fiction I've ever had the pleasure of reading, I found myself researching the Duke of Wellington. One thing led to another and I was soon on the page for Princess Charlotte Augusta, reading about her sort of tumultuous life and her tragic death, and I thought...well...AMarguerite already created this gorgeous world of soul-identifying marks, true matches, and also graciously allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to live after all. 
> 
> This story was inspired by An Ever-Fixed Mark up to ...you know... and by the exquisite AU that is That Looks on Tempests, both by AMarguerite.

Sir Richard and Lady Fitzwilliam had been on the hunt for an establishment of their own, outside of London, and were on the road to Kingsclere with Sir Richard’s friend Colonel Pascal as well as Lady Fitzwilliam’s Aunt Gardiner. Mrs. Gardiner had an old acquaintance who had been unexpectedly widowed and had written wishing some company and it was easy enough to add her to their party. Colonel Pascal had been invited so he could escape London for a spell. The cool October air had all of them bundled tightly in their carriage with the little Miss Victoria Fitzwilliam glued to her father’s chest while snoring away. Lizzie looked on her daughter with great affection, smiling a little at how the child tucked her face against the golden braid of Richard’s regimentals. Across the carriage Pascal smiled at the picture her family now made. Aunt Gardiner was working on some mending, unbothered by the rocking of the carriage as they went along.

They broke their journey for luncheon in Hersham, the town close to where Princess Charlotte had settled with her husband—it had been quite the scandal when the Prince Regent had been exposed as trying to bully his daughter into a marriage with a man who was not her match. Happily she had been smuggled out of London for just long enough for her Prince Leopold to meet her and, it was said, had knelt down in front of her, shut his eyes, and then offered her his wrist. He had been prepared for the rejection that she was not to be his Charlotte, but instead had had to gather up his princess who burst into joyful tears at the sight. The four of them were just discussing these very events when the tiny Victoria pointed with a happy screech at another carriage across the green—surrounded by retainers and pennants and the like to signal the presence of Princess Charlotte. 

The royals continued on their own trajectory, seeming about to pass by the Fitzwilliam party until their phaeton slowed to a stop and the young couple descended. Everyone curtsied or bowed, only to be stopped by the princess waving away their courtesies with a glowing smile. She insisted on introductions and, on learning that stood before her was one of the heroes of Waterloo had heartily thanked Sir Richard for his loyal service and commended the bravery of his men. There was little that would not get to Richard’s heart sooner than remembering his efforts were not those of a solitary pillar, but part of a group of soldiers who had all suffered and fought. Pascal was happy to stand in relative anonymity, though he was gracious as the princess also extended her thanks to him.

“The Duke of Wellington himself said the battle was decided by not just the mud of Waterloo but the stubbornness of the men who held Hoguemont,” she said, all in a rush as they awkwardly invited her to dine with them, with Prince Leopold softly murmuring doucement, cherie, doucement as he helped her to sit. The young woman blushed and a soft smile touched her lips. Lizzie couldn’t help but sigh, remembering when she was newly married to Richard. A true match was worth having, if you could find yours. 

Their little interlude—who would ever believe them, they’d had an impromptu tea with the future Queen of England??—was interrupted when Princess Charlotte’s face crumpled with discomfort, her hand flying to her belly. Lizzie remembered, hazy now, her mother saving her life by forcing her to walk. She could not say, later, what had made her offer to walk with the Princess while she collected herself again, but they walked together on the green for twenty minutes before the Princess made another truly agonized little moue.“Your Highness, at the risk of indelicacy, have you been having pains today?”

“Since early this morning a twinge every few hours, Lady Fitzwilliam,” the younger woman said, “oh, I did not tell anyone for they have starved me terribly already, and Doctor Croft said I shall not be allowed to eat during the birth on account that he says I’m too fat, and that I will have to be bled—”

“Not eat?!” Lizzie couldn’t help but exclaim softly. She had been given water and little morsels of what food she could stand while she labored with her daughter, but the midwife had forbade any of this English nonsense, absurdite, betise, and shouted out anyone who dared proclaim that Lizzie ought to be bled at all. The only English nonsense she had allowed had been the vinegar washes concocted by Colonel Pascal, and that was only because he’d spoken French to her when he’d first met her. 

“It is monstrous, Lady Fitzwilliam. I never understood why my mother declined to go through it again, with everything that is at stake, but if this was how she was treated I see little to encourage a repeat. Oh, oh, it is such a strange and uncomfortable thing, I don’t know whether—” her companion fretted, slowing her steps.

“We are but half a day from London, there are better doctors and midwives there than a man who would not allow you to eat and would bleed you—even Colonel Pascal decries such a practice as quackery. Your Highness, you shall bleed quite enough already, this physician need not add to it!” Lizzie couldn’t stop her tongue, a high anger seizing her as she thought of perhaps one of her younger sisters being treated so before being delivered of a child, and this was the daughter of Prince George. The princess also seemed to have seized on a thought of her own and she held tight to Lizzie’s arm as they turned towards the small party once more. 

“Lady Fitzwilliam, oh please, you must, you must break your journey here with us. They do not listen to my husband, they do not listen to me—but perhaps—I have been so frightened, all alone with them and their pronouncements—but perhaps—”

Lizzie felt a peculiar thing then, giving her recollections of the flight from the Duchess of Richmond’s ball and the days of Waterloo. She had nearly lost Richard then, and it would have broken her. She had had to sit beside battlefields, anxiously winding bandages and carrying water and many other tasks forgotten by chroniclers of the war, while her husband fought for his country. What would become of all of them, though, if this dear lady were to die in childbed? Was this the feeling Richard had felt as he held the gates shut at Hoguemont, his boots slipping in the mud? The Prince was notorious for his high-handed manner with his daughter, and if they barred his chosen physicians and the Princess were to die it would be political ruin for the Fitzwilliam family as well as for the Whigs. There may even by criminal proceedings brought against herself and her family. And yet—

She had been so frightened, as she labored with her daughter, so incredibly terrified and had nearly lost her fighting spirit. The princess was used to being bullied, and this doctor appointed by the regent appeared a bully of the first order. He would not root down to where her spite lived, as Lizzie’s own mother had, and Princess Charlotte would wither away. What an awful prospect!

“Princess Charlotte, we would be honored. I beg that you send your current physician to London to fetch your father—it will allow us at least a day where you may rely on the services of a real midwife as well as the estimable Colonel Pascal.”

All of this was discussed among their party when she and the princess returned to the group, with Colonel Pascal sending one of the groomsmen to Hersham on an errand to secure as much vinegar as ten guineas could stretch to and to send for a midwife on the pretext of seeing to Lady Fitzwilliam herself. The fiction that Lizzie had taken ill and the princess had extended her courtesy was well accepted, for Princess Charlotte was of a kind and thoughtful disposition. Doctor Croft was also dispatched with alacrity by Sir Richard, who took the physician aside and insisted on no uncertain terms that it would do a world of good for Prince George’s image among the aristocracy if he were to visit his daughter so close to her lying in. When Croft put up some resistance Sir Richard pointed out that the princess was unlikely to begin laboring early, and that Colonel Pascal was here to ensure that the household did not disturb the princess unduly—surely a day’s absence was no sin, then. 

Once ensconced in Princess Charlotte’s rooms Lizzie could not help herself—she embraced the princess as tightly as she dared and congratulated her on her serenity for the hour it took Croft to be convinced to set out for London. The young woman reminded her so much of Jane that she could not help the stirrings of sisterly affection towards the princess. Mrs. Gardiner entered after a quarter hour, having met with the lady in charge of the stillroom and now bearing an armful of herbs to be turned into poultices. She also encouraged the princess in her endeavor quite sincerely before setting to work on chopping, plucking, and combining herbs. Lizzie and the princess took turns about the rooms, waiting for the midwife to arrive and teasing Colonel Pascal as he passed messages between the princess and Prince Leopold. The playful atmosphere grew more tense as the midwife arrived, though that mood did clear somewhat when she exclaimed that the child had been breach up until possibly that very afternoon—and congratulated the princess on her fine understanding that walking would produce the life-saving tumble of the babe in the womb. Lizzie held Princess Charlotte’s hand through the next seven hours, comforting her new friend who was frightened and in pain. Pascal assisted the midwife, doing as she asked and answering questions she had, and in return the old woman agreed to scrub her hands in vinegar as she worked. 

“Just think of the joy you’ll have, presenting this child to be christened,” Lizzie soothed, helping Princess Charlotte take some water after giving her some plain biscuits, “your prince will be unable to speak, with proud tears coming down his face. And you might have Wellington stand as godfather, the protector of Europe itself as the babe’s defender. And if he won’t, we will find some other worthy man.” In much this manner they passed the hours, with Lizzie supporting the princess when the midwife, Mrs. Vernet, bade the princess to walk or stretch or any other physical exertion. When the princess fretted that Doctor Croft was right, she was too fat to bear a child successfully Lizzie had had the pleasure of scoffing at that notion and pointed out that her own mother had managed five girls in just eight years with only three disappointments in that span. 

It was in the wee hours of the morning, near dawn, on October 10th, 1817, that Princess Charlotte Augusta of Wales, was delivered of a large baby boy. He screamed heartily as he was cleaned and swaddled and was declared the most thriving infant Mrs. Vernet had yet laid eye to in her years. Just as Mrs. Pattinson had allowed Richard to spend some hours with Lizzie, Lizzie herself worked with Pascal and Aunt Gardiner to ensure that Prince Leopold was allowed in to be with his wife and son. The three were exhausted, though, and dozed together in Princess Charlotte’s bed until well after breakfast had been served and eaten. Mrs. Vernet had sat with them, discreetly of course, to ensure that neither mother nor babe unexpectedly weakened and Lizzie also checked in shortly after she woke and again after breakfast had concluded. 

“That Colonel Pascal isn’t like any of the other doctors I’ve had the misfortune to meet,” Mrs. Vernet said now, “I’ve never known a doctor who believed that a little redness can turn deadly putrid. I don’t know that I hold with his notions that vinegar will prevent putridity, but nothing ever goes amiss with clean hands I suppose, and that acrid smell of it certainly keeps the senses sharp.”

“He saved Sir Richard’s life at Waterloo, though my husband swore quite blue at him then for it involved cleaning his wounds with vinegar.”

“That’s a treatment I wouldn’t relish, but your husband seems hale enough now.”

Just after midday it was announced that the Prince Regent had arrived and was asking to meet his daughter as soon as she could be brought to him. He was in for a great shock, as was Doctor Croft, to learn that Princess Charlotte had been delivered of her child in the night—and that she was resting comfortably now. Doctor Croft demanded to know why he had not been sent for, he had been personally selected to attend to the princess, while the Prince Regent rained down fury on the man for abandoning his post so close to the critical juncture. The doctor, a self-important man who reminded Lizzie of her cousin Mr. Collins, crumpled between the warring notions of loyalty to his post against loyalty to his charge and did not well defend himself from this verbal barrage. The prince, on the other hand, was soon soothed by learning that his dear Sir Richard Fitzwilliam had had the forethought of having a certain Colonel Pascal on hand and also the foresight to call for a midwife when it became clear the princess would deliver without her appointed staff present. 

“Whatever are you doing at Claremont for, Sir, pray you must tell me—I must know the mission that providence provided you in order that you might yet again assist in saving the nation,” Lizzie could barely keep a straight face as the prince spoke, but Richard easily bore up under it. He was the soul of courtesy and good manners. 

“My wife and I wish to locate our own establishment, and the Duke of Wellington claims to have a jolly little house near Kingsclere called Elm Grove that he thinks would suit us well. We broke for luncheon yesterday in Hersham where we had the great honor of meeting Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold. Princess Charlotte graciously invited us to stay here when Lady Fitzwilliam took ill with the headache. Colonel Pascal travels with us having never seen anything further west than Wimbledon Park, and it was he who assisted the local midwife that was summoned in Doctor Croft’s absence. These two ladies are Mrs. Gardiner, my wife’s aunt, and Mrs. Vernet, she was the midwife.” This sparked another round of thanks and congratulations when finally the prince was finally introduced to Mrs. Vernet and went to her side with great feeling, pressing her small hands between his larger ones, thanking her in sincere tones and promising that her name would never be forgotten by history. 

The princess was soon ready to meet with her father who made a great fuss over her and his new grandson, and when he emerged from her chambers he proudly exclaimed that his grandson would bear the name Prince Arthur Pascal Vernet. Pascal and Mrs. Vernet were red faced and bowled over but could not escape the praises that the regent heaped on their heads for saving two lives in the night. Lizzie joined the latest impromptu toast that Prince George led before slipping away to check on Princess Charlotte herself. 

Princess Charlotte was awkwardly trying to get the babe arranged so she could feed him, a determined pout to her mouth as she worked, and Lizzie gently aided her and chuckled at the surprised look that mother and son engaged in when the boy finally latched properly. Watching them Lizzie felt a frisson of jealousy, pressing her hand flat on her belly as she sat at the bedside. Her mother had said that her courses would even out again after she stopped nursing Victoria, which they had, and but with that also came raised hopes. Lizzie had had a suspicion four months ago, but that suspicion had come to nothing—she would not call it a disappointment, when it had been too early to tell anything at all. She did not trouble Richard with that one but Lizzie admitted to herself that if she missed her courses like that again she would tell Richard. He would never pressure or shame her, but part of their strength together was their complete and frank honesty with one another. It was perhaps the surest outward sign of a true match—you could be yourself before your soul mate, more than any other friend or family, there were no barriers between those matched for one another. 

The princess now spoke, breaking the quiet that settled over the room with:

“I told my father of the barbarics I’d experienced with Doctor Croft, and how Colonel Pascal and Mrs. Vernet saved us. How you and Sir Richard saved us, too. He said he had been too heavy of hand and that with my next he will bow to my judgment,” the princess said, her tone matter of fact, “although he drew the line at three names for my little V, he said he would be quite pleased for his next grandchild to be an Elizabeth or a Richard.”

Within months Mrs. Vernet and her Hersham Method were the very height of fashion for the well-to-do elites of the ton and other worthies for the complaints of their wives and children—and Colonel Pascal joined Princess Charlotte’s household as her physician, working closely with Doctor Stockmar who was Prince Leopold’s physician-in-ordinary. The Duke of Wellington was privately stunned that he was named the godfather of a royal prince but accepted the honor well enough, teasing his charge at the christening that he full expected the little prince to pull sword from stone—but begged that this time around he be as discerning as his mother had been with finding her true match, rather than following the example of their mutual namesake. Out from under the thumb of Doctor Croft, Princess Charlotte once again became pleasantly round but took much exercise by walking miles around the grounds of Claremont with her husband and son. Her constitution improved by leaps and bounds, and soon another two children joined their little family, Princess Elizabeth Helene and Princess Caroline.

Sir Richard and Lady Fitzwilliam did, finally, arrive at the farm called Elm Bridge, in the small town of Kingsclere. The house they found there was recently built, with a modern bathing room popularized by the now-scandalous Beau Brummell, and the small farm itself appealed to everything that was impetuous in each of them. Little Victoria immediately tripped into a mud puddle upon arrival, sealing her parent’s affection for the place as being one where Richard would not play second fiddle to a beloved brother or an awkward father as well as the farm being a place where Lizzie might ‘return to her natural state, as she’d been found in the wilds north of London,’ according to a subdued yet amused Mr. Darcy that Christmas. Between a five thousand pound gift from Prince Leopold, a further two thousand from the Earl of Matlock, and a two thousand pound reduction in price by the Duke of Wellington they purchased the farm and thereafter were introduced in society as Sir Richard and Lady Fitzwilliam, of Elm Bridge, in Hampshire. They remained close confidants of the Coburgs, as the royal couple was introduced in those early days, and were invited each October to Claremont until the death of ‘Mrs. Coburg’s’ father George. They continued to correspond with Queen Charlotte and Prince Leopold, and Queen Charlotte always addressed each letter to Elm Bridge with a playful “My dear Liz and Sir Fitz,” and signed them with an affectionate “your friend, Mrs. C.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ever so much for reading this, I hope that you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
